Miss Warren was already speaking when Tristan slipped into class. Her pale brown gaze brushed over him, her perfect features flashing with an acute smile before turning back to the whiteboard. She was nice enough not to lecture him in front of everybody, and he quietly sat down while she wrote up the name of the play they’d be studying over the next few weeks.

Tristan suppressed his groan, settling for an eye roll instead. Why were teachers obsessed with that play? Why study such a depressing run of events that could have so easily been avoided?

In Tristan’s opinion, the biggest tragedy was the fact that it had stood the test of time. It was constantly being regurgitated and remade just so people could fall in love and then have their hearts torn out of their chests and stomped on. He pictured his mother sniffling at the television, dabbing at her eyes while Claire Danes shot herself in the head.

“So tragic,” she’d mutter. “So beautiful.”

A black cloud of bitterness stormed through Tristan’s mind and without meaning to, he snatched the play from Miss Warren’s hands.

Her usually kind eyes narrowed in question, so he mumbled an apology and slumped back in his seat.

“I take it you don’t like Shakespeare, Mr. Parker.” She fought a grin.

“He’s okay, I guess,” Tristan muttered.

“Then what seems to be the problem?” Her head tipped to the side, her elegant fingers wrapping around the rest of the books she had to give out.

His face was turning scarlet—he could feel it. Curious gazes flicked his way. Harley, the annoying girl from his PE class, gave him a sympathetic smile. He averted his gaze, keeping his eyes down while scratching his forehead in an attempt to hide his face. With a shrug, he shook his head. “There’s no problem.”

His English teacher wanted to say more; Tristan could tell by the way she hesitated at his desk. He glanced up and noticed her lips twitch before she pursed them to the side and kept moving down the aisle, handing out books and receiving a steady stream of thank-yous.

Thumbing through the worn pages, Tristan gave in with a sigh and opened the cover, shuffling in his seat and leaning over the text.

“Before we get started, can someone please give me a brief overview of what this play’s about?” Miss Warren perched her slender behind against the front edge of her desk. Her legs stretched out before her; the skin-colored pumps and fitted cream skirt she was wearing made them sleek and attractive.

Tristan looked away. He wasn’t the only guy in the school to think the young English teacher was hot, but he was probably one of the only ones who didn’t care either way. He wasn’t interested.

“Tristan, how about you?”

His blue gaze was icy when he looked at her, but she just smiled at him, tipping her head so her fine, sandy locks fell onto her shoulder.

He pressed his lips together but soon had to give in with a sigh. The fact that she was ignoring the three raised hands in the class was proof she wasn’t giving him an inch.

Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “It’s about these two young people who meet at a party and fall instantly in love, but they’re not supposed to be together because their families hate each other. They get together anyway, everything falls to crap, and they kill themselves.”

A few snickers rippled through the classroom and Miss Warren stood, once again fighting a grin. “Okay, brief and to the point. I take it you have a low opinion of this play.”

“It’s all right, I guess.” His shoulder hitched.

She held the book up in her hand, gazing around the room as she spoke. “You know, people say it’s one of the most romantic stories of all time.”

Tristan scoffed, his jaw working to the side. He couldn’t make eye contact with the delusional English teacher when she glanced back at him.

“You don’t believe in romance? Star-crossed lovers? A passion that could last beyond the grave?”

Tristan’s lips pressed into a tight line. The flurry of truths he wanted to unleash clogged his throat. He didn’t want to trample on her fantasies with his bitter reality.

If only she knew that love was a crock. It fooled the heart, broke the heart, and then shat all over it.

The only thing about William Shakespeare’s play that actually made sense to Tristan was the death part at the end, because if Romeo and Juliet had somehow survived and gotten away with it, they would have had to face the reality of living with each other and finding out that stars don’t shine forever and true love doesn’t last.